Not cockroaches, although I go ballistic once they fly around my head. I would already apologize in advance to anyone I would hit. My rubber slipper is my best friend on this account.

Not the eyeless baby doll that my younger brother had left lying around the house. I hated the idea of those black empty sockets staring at me. They reminded me of that one episode of Are You Afraid of the Dark? Not only that, dolls reminded me of clowns, and, yes, I was definitely afraid of clowns. I could remember that joke throughout Facebook that Killer Clowns have arrived in Cagayan de Oro City. I was on the lookout then.

Right. Despite flying ugly insects and white-faced entertainers, what I feared the most was—

“I cheated on you,” he said, without so much of a hesitation. He was wearing his white long-sleeved polo, tight on his toned physique. That didn’t distract me from my immediate shock.

Fireworks could be heard from the distance, prematurely lighted by their owners. It was still fifteen minutes before the New Year arrived. We were sitting, side-by-side, on my late father’s narra bench in the living room. Home Alone 2 was blaring from the TV screen. Unlike little Macaulay Caulkin screaming piercingly from the screen, I was shouting from the inside. Eventually, to distract myself from his pronouncement, I took the remote and shut the TV off.

Silence.

“Say something.”

There were many things I wanted to tell him now. I have not the faintest idea where and how to start. As if liquid fire flowed through my veins, I felt my limbs and body heat up. Then in a blink, it was replaced by a void. I felt nothing. Then I remembered. I am the one to be blamed here.

I cheated on him. My fiancé. We got engaged last year hoping that we could finally let go of our horrible past, or what I called the GYM GUY era. I cheated on him with a random stranger from Axis Gym. How many times? Twice? Thrice? I couldn’t remember how many trysts and one-night stands I managed to do while we were together. Gym guy—and other men. He never knew, until he snooped around my phone. Too bad for me, he has these telescopic eyes that could see far from normal. That’s how he probably knew my PIN. After that discovery, he became always so eager to find me at fault. I couldn’t blame him. I was known to be promiscuous. Even back in college.

Back then, I considered him my ultimate crush. He was cute, witty, very talented, and with eyes that glint of otherworldly knowledge. He was kind to everybody. He was of the old rich but you wouldn’t know by looking at his lanky frame back then. He was always so simple. That was probably the reason why I fell for him. I knew that girls and guys wanted him, but I did more effort to finally get him to notice me. I became his best friend.

Typical, I know. But that’s the formula that always worked in movies. All those Gerald Anderson and Kim Chiu movies taught me that (Paano na Kaya? was definitely the culprit.). It all starts with friendship, those movies said. And, my, my, what friendship it was. Having him close by made my heart flutter every time I get a scent of his Oxygen cologne, Static. I once did buy the same cologne from the said store, and masturbated to it, with his handkerchief covering my face, imagining him and me in bed—now that’s too much information. Kinky. But I guess I was already falling for him. Or that was just me and being a Scorpio.

“I don’t know what to say,” I told him. What should I tell him? That I hated him now? That I couldn’t bear to look at him? That I wanted him out of the house? As much as I wanted to, I didn’t want to sound the hypocrite. Well, I was. We both were.

“You probably have something to say,” he desperately moaned. “We want to have a clean slate before the New Year, and just saying that doesn’t help us at all. Na unsa man ka.”

There he is. To tell you the truth, he was never the kind and loving guy I thought he was. He was manipulative, an emotional blackmailer, a Type-A asshole. He was paranoid with everything that I did. Going out with my friends? I was hanging out with another guy. Going to an out of city trip? He believed I was fucking someone behind his back.

Again, I couldn’t blame him. This was after the second time he discovered I had another pipe cleaning session with another guy. You see, every time after we had an argument about something he didn’t like, I usually black out and contact any other guy who was available to console me at that time. And by console, I mean, have myself choke someone else’s Hungarian sausage. And soon enough, he discovered from my private messages in Instagram that I was cheating on him with this Chinese Filipino cutie, who was five years our junior. We both are twenty-six years old. I called that the YOUNG CHINOY era. By then, trust between us was powdered china, impossible to reassemble with whatever glue. I never told our friends or anyone how big a problem he was. He was Mr. Perfect after all.

I knew he wanted to hear me say it.

“I am angry. Upset ko. I want to break something, but I feel,” my voice broke. I took a deep breath. “I feel wala ko’y right to feel this.” I looked straightly at him. Happy?

I could see a smile twitch. He caught himself. Or was I becoming as paranoid as he was? He wasn’t as mean—no, as evil as this. But I carried on.

In every argument we had for the past six years, it was always my fault. Always. Have you ever had those conversations with trolls in social media, where you are arguing, giving all your points with a particular issue, and despite all of it being rational ones, you still end up being the loser? That’s how it is with him, but the opposite. He was just too logical, always presenting counterarguments that actually make sense, unlike the fucking trolls in social media. With every rebuttal that I cast at him, he has a better point. And in the end, I always shut my mouth. I was the one in the losing end. I only had my way with him…as of the present, four times? Yawa no?

“It,” he stuttered. “It wasn’t only flirting that happened.”

Chchchchshcshshshshshshshsksshshskkkk. I heard static. All around us, the walls of the living room blackened as if tar gruelingly flowed down from the corners of the ceiling. I didn’t feel his hands on mine. His words muffled like a drowning clown; they didn’t matter. I heard him say something about leaving.

Paolo had fucked someone behind my back, just when, in fact, I have tried so hard to be faithful after that careless YOUNG CHINOY era. This couldn’t be true, right? He wouldn’t dare. He was abusive, yes, but he wouldn’t do this. He knew how much this will crush me—despite the multiple times of convincing him and myself that I am not the jealous type.

But he did. For revenge or for pleasure, I wasn’t so sure. Pleasure is relative for him after all.

I looked at him, but he wasn’t there beside me. I glanced at the clock. It told me it was ten minutes before the New Year. Engaged, I thought, and we still have so many things to know about each other. I turned the TV on again. The Force Awakens brightly reflected on my eyes. I was definitely Kylo Ren, anger focused on an imagined console, slashing and destroying that said imagined console with my menacing red lightsaber.

I thought, and thought, and thought. Questions. So many questions flew inside my mind like bats disturbed during the day. Are we to end this? Or should we make it a clean slate? Is that even still possible, given how toxic a relationship we actually have? Can this be a resolution for 2017? Will we ever learn to trust each other again?

I saw our photograph on a frame, on top of the corner table. The glass was cracked. We looked so happy. Then I remembered all those happy moments we had, ever since we became friends, and then memories when we became more than that. And of course, all the bad memories worked their way in as well.

I called his phone. I was surprised to hear the ringing from the kitchen. I went up to our bedroom.

“Abi nako nilakaw ka,” I said from the doorway. He was seated on the bed, crying. With his hands covering his face, he looked like a child who lost his toy. I sat beside him. “Why did you it?”

He wiped his face and cleared his throat. “I…I don’t know. You and I, we’ve never had any action for months! And I wanted to hurt you. But it was only once. Right after I found out you cheated on me again. I always wanted to tell you. I though now was the perfect time.”

“You always have the knack with perfect timings,” I said sarcastically, smiling at him. He looked very remorseful. I couldn’t be sure though. He was, after all, one of the best actors I’ve met. Everything about him seemed rehearsed. Anyone could always fall for him. He was quite the charmer. “New Year na New Year, Pao.”

Fire returned in my limbs. This time, I really hit him on the head with my fist. “Gago ka! We are dealing with what you did right now.” I hit him again. “Sa kadaghan nimo ginapadungog-dungog sa Facebook, wala na koy lain gi-chupa, yawa ra. And again, ginakasab-an nako nila Debbie. Pasalamat ka sa ila.” One last hit.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. He looked at me, with those glinting eyes. I knew he was telling the truth. “All I want is for us to have a clean slate.” Then thoughtfully, he added, “I never expected to fall in love with you. Seeing after you have a small pi-pi, I should have left you.”

“Mao ba,” I said. I took the pillow and hit him a couple more times. He mentioned that every after we argue. “Ali na, we still have to light the fireworks.”

He lied on his back, staring at me. “Are we done talking about this?” He sat up. His voice was frail and light as a newborn kitten’s. “Lex…what are we now?”

I sighed. “Five years, Pao. We’ve encountered far worse shits than this. And I’ve expected this to happen. But I wish we will be more honest to each other more than ever. I only want you.”

He wet his dry lips with his tongue—the sexiest thing he constantly did.

“One thing you need to promise me, Lex,” he said, his brown gaze so intense that I immediately sat back on the bed. “Please put me down from that pedestal. Dili ko si Mister Perfect. Tell your friends, I’m an asshole. Na gago ko. Na yawa ko. I don’t want to be pressured from how you make them see me. Mao ra na akong ginapangayo nimo.”

It all flashed in my head. All those times I kept defending him from Debbie. He was right. I’ve always placed him like a saint, despite his many sins. He was nothing more than a trophy for me to show around. A glass shattered in front of me, finally making me see clearly outside.

I only nodded.

“All I want is for you to trust me.”

Paolo held my hand. It was smooth as a baby’s. “I will.”

It was three minutes before the clock struck twelve. Paolo and I set the boxes of fireworks outside the yard, securing it around with hollow blocks. With the countdown of ABS-CBN’s annual New Year Countdown Concert in full volume from the living room, Paolo and I held hands together as we waited for that loud zero.

The sky above us filled with vivid colors, accompanied with flashy cracks and booms from the various fireworks lighted around the area. We both looked up. Our necks were straining for the magnificent pyrotechnic view. Paolo’s face was splashed with reds, greens, and yellows from the kaleidoscope of flares from above. He looked very happy with his perfect smile. His beady eyes, teary, were smiling as well. I never saw him this joyous. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but I hoped we both share the same thoughts. As I stared in awe at the sky, I thought that 2017 will be a brighter and better year.

I gazed at Paolo again, and as he glanced back at me, with those happy, hopeful eyes, my fear immediately was doused.

As much as grand finales end with a bang, TheHungerGames’s final installment delivered to a notch but not as anticipated.
The film directly starts two weeks after Peeta’s strangling of Katniss, with the latter recovering from lack of voice.
Anyway, I love how faithful this was to the material, and how some parts were creatively added to give the storytelling much flavor.
Jennifer Lawrence is still as brilliant and in-depth as our heroine since the very beginning and we see how she portrays the journey her character has gone through. The rest of the cast were brilliant.
This final film would never have been more successful without it being in the hands of director Francis Lawrence. He made sure all scenes were so full of tension you could almost hear every heartbeat in the cinema and in the movie itself.
The film not only mirrors the present situation in the real world, but it also, again as in the first part, uses propaganda in control of the media.
If you’re a fan or not, the film is a good way to forget, for two hours, the real world.

I’ve been gone for soooooo long I think I forget how to write properly. (Hence the many ‘o’s‘)

I’m actually at the office. Work. And just a second WordPress sprang into my mind while I was browsing through Apple App Store in my phone. (Yes, that’s one of the new things about me this year. I finally got an iPhone. As a friend commented, I “gave in to the devil.” So I took this opportunity to steal a few minutes away from actual work and write something insightful of the events that have happened to me this year.

I’m not so sure how long I’ve been gone. But I have decided—nope, dedicated, committed myself into writing again.

You see, one of the factors of the past months (?) of unproductive journalism (If I can even call what I do journalism. Creative non-fiction, perhaps?) is that I’ve been swamped with the realness of that thing we dread most of our lives—day job. Being an artist/writer/actor, etc., being in a routine place, doing routine work is totally incapacitating and dull that it dries up all your creativity without you even noticing it. It’s like your brain just starts to rust, and not even some lubricants will help stop the spread, not unless you get a brain transplant. Not that I’m complaining, my day job provides me sufficient compensation (but probably not equal to the heavy load being tasked upon me most of the times), and it’s the one that helps me survive and continue to do artistic endeavors as much as I can. I’ve been involved in artistic projects since I’ve started work, and there was never a conflict (so far).

First, I acted in a short film, Across the Universe, under our film production company, [unttld] productions. Here’s the link: PART 1: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9g6j2U1Ops and for PART 2: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SNYAwF-2STU It won Best Editing and 3rd Place Best Short Film for the 7th Cinemagis Film Festival. I was nominated for Best Actor, which was nice. A few months after this, (Cinemagis happened last January, as I can remember) I joined to act on another short film, LUCID, under Cloyd’s Phoenix Films. It won Best Cinematography, and also Best Actress for one of my co-actors, Korr. It was thrilling because it was my first time to portray a Muslim and I have to smoke (um…asthmatic). It was a new challenge for me as an actor, to be honest. Another acting project I joined by February was The Vagina Monologues and A Memory, A Monologue, A Rant, and A Prayer. You may ask me, how the hell do you find the time to join all that even with a day job? Well, nothing beats passion and doing what you’re really good, right? Screw the fatigue! As of the moment, I am involved in a production for HIV/AIDS Awareness Campaign for World AIDS Day on December 1. The production is called LIMA (“Five”), in which five monologues about PLHIV will be acted out by actors.

Now you know why I’ve been away from the writing scene.

Besides that, I’ve also been involving myself these past five months on Tuesdays and Wednesdays for a doze of brain-lubricating activities such as the Boy Zugba Trivia Night (on Tuesday evenings) and the frustrating GEEK WARS at Loretos Grill. This is gonna be a humblebrag but our team Y Khurat! always win (for the Boy Zugba, but for the GEEK WARS, it’s always a close call.) We’ve been defending champions for both trivia nights for three consecutive months already. Teehee. I love my team, seriously.

So, yeah, that’s about it, I guess. The last factor, I’ve decided to just keep it to myself. But it was about me hitting rock bottom. Depression is a bitch. I’m not gonna tell you what about really. Or what contributed to it. But that’s just it. I’ve been depressed for a few months. I don’t want to talk to a therapist. Right now, I’m feeling all right. Will power is one’s greatest asset in beating depression. Slow but sure. I guess writing will be my therapy. It has always been. And with all the questions forming in my head, I think writing about it will give me answers that I’ve been looking for.

There goes the insomnia. For the past week, sleep slips sordidly between my eyes and I just can’t put my head over a pillow and snore myself to dreamworld.

I have this dilemma that’s been fucking with my head since my parents told me about it. Even though I’m confident with what I actually want to do with my life, there’s still something that pulls on the strings, trying to push me into that temptation. I’m not even sure if this is a challenge for me to face before I turn 25. What a nice reminder that I’m finally crossing the path from young adulthood to Adulthood. That’s with a Capital A.

I’m not even sure if I should write about it here, given the fact that there might be some company spies working 24/7 to conduct thorough background check on you. You can never be sure nowadays. But I guess I’ll risk it here? It’s been a while since I’ve written anything in this site. And no excuse shapes itself inside this crazy head of mine. So I guess the real reason why I haven’t done any cursor-dancing is because I’m starting to feel like I don’t have the talent for writing anymore. Can you believe that?

And this pish-posh of nonsense that I’m blabbering about is starting to digress from what I badly need to share.

Okay.

Here it goes.

My father is retiring from his long-successful career of being a banker and he wants me to, as the most obvious of reasons, follow in his footsteps, which is less likely what he actually does want me to do, but more on to let me earn something a little more than what I’m actually getting from my current job—not that my current job compensates me any less than my taste; I’m actually satisfied with what I’m getting. So this is where the dilemma starts knocking in.

Just a few weeks from now, I have to take this entrance examination for THE national bank of the Philippines: the Central Bank of the Philippines. On those days, it’s also a very important/crucial and frustratingly difficult week in my current work place. So here’s my father forcing me to fly to Manila to just take the exam, while I’m weighing in the options on how to actually state to my boss that I have to leave for three days on the same week where they will have a national conference. I haven’t mentioned, I’m the one doing the data-analyzing and the preparation of presentations for the conference. Can you see the picture I’m getting at??? I feel like I can’t decide that fast.

Should I fly to Manila, take the exams, and risk my chances for quality presentation? Or should I just let Fate work its magic? Is this what they call that “quater-life crisis?” Gah!